Games Of Daggers And Magic
by Proman1398
Summary: A Dark One arrives in the years leading up to Robert's Rebellion. What are his goals? Why does he seem to hate certain characters? Power isn't only had with a throne, sometimes a Dagger is where the true power rests. (SI Dark One)
1. Ch1 Young Influence

**281 AC**

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

Lyanna Stark found herself frozen, having been in the middle of attempting to armor herself in the mix-matched pieces that her little brother Benjen had helped her to acquire. She was to defend the honor of a crannogman by defeating three knights whose squires had bullied the small man. She would ransom back their armor and horses once she won, requiring that they chastise their squires for the behavior in order get them back. So that she could dress without anyone interrupting her, she'd chosen this dark empty room.

She didn't expect someone to walk in on her.

He was sick looking, his skin scaly like that of a lion-lizard, making her worried that he suffered from greyscale and his eyes were a bright yellow, nearly shinning in the darkness of the shadow that he sat in. He wore clothes that were similar to what she'd seen from some of the Dornish men that were here at the Tourney, though with far darker colors that looked to seep into the shadow. He looked to be between her own age and that of the Crown Prince Rhaegar.

"Who are you?" Lyanna certainly wasn't going to be caught on the back foot by some scaly southerner. "How dare you enter this room! Leave now and I won't tell my father of this." Part of her was annoyed that she needed to bring her father into a conversation as a threat, she would prefer if she was just taken as one.

"I apologize for my inappropriate arrival, Lady Stark," He smiled and his dirty teeth made the young girl's skin crawl. "I just thought to warn you that such armor was dangerous to use, its fit may just cause you to stumble at the wrong time." Even with his fiendish features, the man looked to be genuine in his concern.

"I thank you for the advice, but you have no right to be here and to voice them."

Suddenly the man clapped his, within a single second dark purple smoke cloaked over Lyanna and her set of armor. It felt like tingles ran up her spine as she watched what was once a mix-matched armor set, that truly was an ill-fit for her, was turned into a matching green set that fit her like it had been made for her. All set to match her new shield, still engraved with the image of a white weirwood with a laughing red face.

"There we go, much better." He stood up, his height was around that of six feet. Towering over the young girl but he was so limber and thin that Lyanna wondered if the man had been eating well. "I don't like bullies and this armor is much less likely to catch the attention of the… Mad King."

"Then I offer you my thanks," Lyanna was confused and a bit ashamed. If it had been any other man she wouldn't have been so taken back his physical appearance, but her state of dress played a role in that. "But just who are you to have magic like so?" From what the Maesters had told her, magic had disappeared from this world with dragons. This whole meeting started to take on a whole new aspect for the young girl.

"Oh, just… a friend of the downtrodden," He told her, a twirl of his hand and the room was lit with light. She could now see his features in a much clearer light. No longer was she worried that he was sick with greyscale, but instead, she was thinking that he wasn't a human. "But another word of warning for you, Lyanna Stark." It was almost spoken as a question, was she willing to heed his next words.

"I am willing to listen." The man had done her a boon with this armor especially if it kept away the attention of the Mad King from her. Him being some magic creature just added to his mystique.

"No doubt you've listened to the beautiful voice of Prince Rhaegar?" Lyanna nodded at the man who frowned at this news. "I wouldn't trust the man, he's as mad as his father, but with a different flavor."

"I've heard no such rumor."

"That is because the arrogance of men," He scoffed sitting back on his shadowy seat. "They see only what he does, and don't think about what he's said in the past. His obsession also appears more benign than his father's brand of paranoia. He believes his son Aegon is the Prince that was Promised."

"I-" Lyanna wasn't sure how to take such news. While this could be a lie, there was very little reason for this magical person to make one. "I don't understand how that's as bad." She eventually replied. Believing in some nonsense like that didn't sound any different than listening to the Southern Gods instead of the Old Gods to her.

"Because he mixes it with other prophecies, ones about three-headed dragons. Which he links to sisters that will be his son's wives."

"Oh," That sounded a bit worrying to her ears. While it was standard practice between the Royal Family, it wasn't something that other families liked or even smiled upon. "I'm glad for the warning but I'm unsure why you've given me it."

This sounded like it should have been given to her father as a warning for how to treat with the future King. She couldn't imagine that she'd be meeting with him often, even if she did become Robert's Lady.

"Because if you go through with this plan of yours, he'll name you the queen of love and beauty."

There was a bead of silence in the room. Lyanna found herself flattered at this thought, that the handsome Prince would choose her over his wife but with the recent knowledge of this 'maddness' the Prince had. She could connect the dots.

Elia Martell couldn't give birth to another child… and Rhaeger needed another girl for his son.

"Once more, I will take this warning with some clout." As she looked back into the shadowy corner, she only found that man was no longer there, he vanished into thin air. But she was a young girl, her head full of tales and deeds. Of stories about men and wizards.

* * *

**282 AC**

There he was, deary laying down on a bed, near death and going in and out of awareness. This was an event that was going to stay with Petyr Baelish for the rest of his life, the pain from his wounds was far beyond the worse thing he'd felt in this short life of his. He had challenged for the hand of his beloved Cat. Catelyn Tully, who had been promised to a Northern Barbarian of House Stark.

The Heir, Brandon Stark.

Sadly for Petyr, the man that some called Littlefinger, he had not the training nor the age needed to kill or even defeat the Nothern Heir, and it was only thanks to the kindness of Cat, who begged for his life that he survived the duel. Though the Maester told him, while he was awake, that he'd be scarred for life.

But he'd gotten something out of this affair. The first night of Catelyn Tully.

That was something that those barbarians would never be able to take from him. Though his actions had angered Lord Hoster Tully, not the bedding his daughter, he wasn't aware of that. No, his challenging Brandon Stark for Cat's hand. That was something the Lord had made clear and he was being sent home for this.

"You know, it didn't happen?" A cold voice spoke out. Petyr looked over to where it came from, only seeing cold yellow eyes. More animal-like than human, it caused a sudden shift to Baelish's mind and now the young man was wide awake. "Sleeping with Catelyn Tully. That never happened."

"Oh, is that so." Petyr could feel himself clam up, he could only go along with this stranger. It might have been someone those barbarians sent to finish him off. "I've never thought I had."

"Don't play games with me, LittleFinger." The figure stood, his frame was bathed in shadow. "I know what you're thinking, I can read your mind as if it was a book."

"This man must take me-" He began to think, but found something that took his breath away.

"-For a fool!" The stranger finished his thoughts at the same moment he had them. "You're an open book to me, Littlefinger. Every little secret you have. I already know it, even the secrets that you don't know."

"And why should I believe you over my own memories?" Perhaps it was the Milk Of the Poppy that was stopping him from panicking from that point on. This was something if it got out, would end in his death… and perhaps Catelyn's own. It may be better if he was not to argue this with this stranger.

"That matters not," The figure shook his head, long brown hair, it was well-kept, and tied up shook along with it. "What matters is what you want… future Lord Baelish?"

"I want Catelyn," The young man from the Fingers whispered, "To be happy with me." Tears had started running down his eyes and his vision become blurry.

"I can do only one of those things," The figure stepped into Petyr's vision fully now, their form ghastly. The skin of a lizard and eyes to match, combined with bags under those man's eyes, that even though he was a man not any older than he, the man was skinny too, it all made him look sick and underfed. "But for a price."

"Why should I believe that you could even grant me that?" Even drugged as he was, Petyr Baelish had a mind for manipulation. He wasn't going to be played by some freak. "Why should I think you can do anything!" It was nearly a yell from his mouth, but with a flick of this man's wrist, he found himself incapable of speaking anymore.

"Eh, eh, ah," The young man waggled his finger at the future Lord. "We don't want any unwelcomed company do we?" He sat on the very bed that Baelish was laid out on. Though just on the side of it. "Now, I don't think that the little mute treatment I gave you will be enough to convince you of my power?"

Petyr found himself nodding at this statement. After all, this could just be a well-timed coincidence of drugs and injury coming together in order to look like magic. Make it look like this mysterious stranger had taken his voice.

"Very well," With a single clap of this man's hands, the injured man found himself engulfed in smoke. It felt being washed by a warm stream and his flesh felt was being pulled back together. "Hows the chest feeling now, Littlefinger?" He ended this sentence with a gleeful laugh that sent chills down Petyr's spine.

It sounded like strangled cats.

The young would-be lover of Catelyn suddenly felt refreshed, like he had when first looked at Catelyn and knew that he loved her. He tore through is bedclothes, expecting to see the blood or even the stitching of his wounds over his torso. The wounds that Brandon Stark had called a 'Token', but they weren't there. Only smooth skin greeted his eyes.

He was fully healed, not even a mark. This man was truly magical.

"A small taste of my power," Another laugh that shook the young Baelish, who only found himself growing tired suddenly, his eyes shutting slightly. "But how about it," There was a bang on the room's only table, causing Petyr to reopen his eyes fully and there in front of him was a sheet of paper. "Do we have a deal?"

"I get what I want?" Petyr asked, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought.

"More," Dirty teeth grinned at the formerly injured man. "There's a price, but it's only working for me on the sly for a… few years. And for that, you get money, you get power and you get her happiness." It was phrasing that Petyr didn't think about.

Petyr found himself taking the quill without thought. His soul had been hurt by this, by his dear Cat being forced to leave him because he hadn't been good enough to defeat a barbarian. It wouldn't happen again, not with this deal. Petyr never did think about why him, he never thought about what reason would a being like this want from him? But he was too taken by the power placed in front of him, if he could take it for himself, then he'd have everything.

"What may I call my new lord?"

"Peader."

It would take some years, but eventually, Petyr Baelish would realize that he never did read that document he signed. But by then, it was already over.

* * *

**276 AC**

Two young girls entered a tent. It was a way into a forest located somewhere in the Westerlands. The duo was here because rumor had a witch lived here, and she could see into the future. The two girls names were Cersei Lannister, daughter of Tywin Lannister, Lord of the Westerlands and Warden of the West and the other was Melara Hetherspoon a friend of Cersei and a daughter of one of Lord Tywin's banner loads.

The tent that they entered was dark, so dark that they could only make out the yellow eyes of the sole occupant in it. For a moment both of the girls were frightened, but then one of them remember just who they were.

"Are you the witch?" Cersei asked her chin sticking out in a display of bravery. "I was told that you could see into the future. Tell me mine!" She demanded, standing out straight in what only a young child was think was intimidating.

A mad crackling coming from those eyes caused Melara to flee from the tent in fright, the sound was that chilling, it was that dreadful. But for Cersei, she could do nothing but feel her feet rooted to the spot. Like the air had frozen her solid.

"Are you sure, Dear?" A shill Male voice asked the remaining girl. "Futures change with the breeze, but once told they get harder to change." There was a teasing air to this tone, but even with all that Cersei felt the need to ask.

"You're not a woman, are you even a witch?"

"Oh, the last owner of this place was, she just left me… with her secrets," Then came that dreadful laugh once more, as this man came from the shadows. He looked to only be her senior by five years, barely on the cusp of being a man. He seemed to suffer from greyscale, though he was an odd color of gold. He was wearing nothing but animal cloaks on his person and they looked to be of poor cut and stitch. "So if it is the future you seek, I can give you it."

"But you won't?" Cersei could tell that this man was trying to stop her from getting what she wanted. "My Father owns these lands, tell me what I want or I'll have your yellow eyes taken out of your head."

"Oh dear," He walked towards her suddenly, his golden scaled skin glittered in the suddenly lit candlelight. "I suppose that I have no choice but to tell you. Come here then, child." He stopped at a basin. A full one, filled with water.

"You have three questions," He told her, rolling his head as he did so, his short brown hair suddenly jumped up as he did so. Cersei felt a giggle come to her, the scene looking funny to her young mind as it broke her image of this man so unexpectedly. With a hand, the man-witch gathered a bit of water and stroked his hair back down.

"Now," The man said, a grin of white teeth marked the first bit of pure color in the room. "I was at the three questions, but before you get yours I must get… a lock of hair," he pointed at the young girl's beautiful locks.

Without questioning this, the young Lannister took on stray hair strand off her dress, handing it over to the strange Man-Witch. But he frowned, looking at it with a glare when he suddenly bit it and spat out into the basin.

"Before you start, just a bit of advice."

"What?" Cersei found herself rolling her eyes. After all, what advice a poor Man-Witch give to her, the daughter of the richest House in All the Seven Kingdoms.

"Never give a witch, a wizard or a sorcerer anything from your body willingly," He twirled his hand and then the basin lit up with light. Glowing gold. "They could do anything with it, like a curse but only I can give you this!"

There was a time where there was nothing but silence that was being shared between the two.

"Well," The groaned out, his hand to his face. "Your questions." he drolled out.

"Oh, right!" Cersei looked down at the basin, "When will I marry the Prince…" she continued to look down at the basin, but nothing was appearing. Near busting with rage she looked up to the Man-Witch.

"You could marry a King." He told her, his eyes closed a hand in the basin. "His hair as black as night."

"There is no such Royal family member?" Cersei asked, her voice shill.

"Is that your second question?" He asked, his smile widening.

"No!" Cersei yelled, her fist clenching. The young girl would not be taken for a fool like that. "I want to know how many children we'll have."

"You are at a crossroads with that," The basin water suddenly become like blood, and the Man-Witch raised his hand. It dripped. "Either your children will be three and gold-crowned, or three and black-crowned. If gold… then you find their shrouds of gold too. If black then you will never see their shrouds." The Man-Witch smiled his teeth as bloody as his hands.

"What?" Cersei could feel her veins chill. Even in her young age, she could tell what that meant. She'd outlive them. "How… " The young girl tailed off, unsure what question to ask.

"How do they die?" His smile turned back a frown, as his eyes become softer. "This only applied to those of gold-crowns, just so you realize," then he sighed, "The first of poison during his wedding day. The second takes his own after the death of his queen."

"And the third?"

"Your little girl dies due to her grandfather's sins," Blood water soon turned to normal once more. The Man-Witch's hand drying in a single blow of the man's mouth. "What we do to others, may cause others to treat us like that."

"I don't understand," For the first time in her life, Cersei felt fear. For she could not deny this man. His yellow eyes pierced her very being and conveyed the truth of everything. "What sin does Father do to cause… his own grandaughter's death?"

"That… is someone else's future and I can't tell that," At the girl's tearful stare, the Man-Witch sighed and sat back down on his shadowy throne. "But I will say that if you let yourself be known as a kind lady, from those of the Highest to the Lowest in life, then your troubles may pass."

"Really?" The young Lannister found her self grasping for a breath she wasn't aware that she was holding. "It's that simple?"

"If you make it so," The Man-Witch waved his hand around until it found itself at his chin, "Now away with you, before your friend gets herself lost by straying from the forest's path. She'd still be close enough to spot from this tent if you leave now."

Once Cersei left, she started to think about what the Man-Witch has said. Finding the whole thing ridiculous. How could she ever have believed that nonsense from a Man-Witch? Cersei thought that he must have been a mummer with pretty light tricks.

But there was something about that man. So from then on… Cersei tried to be just a little bit nicer. Mostly she failed at it, but she tried.

* * *

_**Author's Note: So this is from my Big Bluebox of ideas thread over on the spacebattles forums. I liked it enough for me to give its own thread and now it's own place on this site. This here is about three posts that have been combined together, but from this point on, it will be one chapter one time period and not all this jumping around business. Though, chapters will get the 2.1, 2.2 and the like thing up to 3. **_

_**So, the premise is pretty guessable by anyone familiar with the crossover material here. I won't spoil it if people don't want to know about the details yet. The story will get into it eventually. Basically, the SI is manipulating everyone into doing certain things. Which is why certain things are weird...**_

_**You can already guess what few changes his appearances here have caused like with Melara?**_

_**Please review leave with your thoughts, I'd appreciate it. **_


	2. Ch2:1 Howland Reed?

**AC 281**

There wasn't a second that went by that her heart wasn't jumping into her chest. Not a second that she didn't nervously pass a look over her armor, as she was walked to her horse. This was something that she had wanted for years, a chance to be just like any of her brothers. Yes, she was mainly doing this to defend the honor of one of her father's bannermen but this was going to be used a proof that she could fight as well as any man.

Better even.

Lyanna Stark was sure of this as she stepped forward and onto her horse. It was easier than it should have been to step onto it. Her armor seemed to be as light as air. Just in case, the Young Stark girl had tested the armor just moments ago. It was thick, study and no matter how hard she pushed a blade into it, it didn't bend… no, it broke the blade.

So the disguised girl rode on to the lists. Ready for what was to come.

* * *

It hadn't been as hard as she thought it would. Lyanna was sure that the would be at least hit once, but not once did a lance manage to land a hit on her. Though the deed was done now, those Knights would teach their squires honor if only to keep their reputations clean after having their behavior announced to all the Seven Kingdoms.

Still, the King had not taken any heed of her at all, just like the Scaled Man had promised. So if she felt like it, Lyanna could do another round of the Joust. Though she'd flee before the last, because it would bring dishonor to her House if her deception as discovered, but she wished it there were a way for her to compete in full.

"Hello, there good, ser!" Came the familiar cry of the Scaled Man, who was standing just to the side of her horse. "Mighty fine bit of jousting there," he clapped his hands together, his smile was full of child-like glee. "I say I did place some coin on your victory."

Lyanna found it odd that none were taking heed of this Scaled Man that spackled gold in the sunlight. He was tall enough and odd enough that many should be glancing at him as they passed by but none seemed to notice him. They just walked on by, not even looking at him from the corner of their eyes.

Like he was a ghost.

"It would have been a shame to lose money like that," Lyanna found herself whispering, her voice still heard by the strange man. "I would have placed it on the Crown Prince if I were you." It was true, the Crown Prince was said to be the favorite to win the Tourney. He had the skill, the experience, and the fame that anyone would put money behind.

"Oh, it's not about winning money," he smiled at her, this time his dirty teeth were less disgusting to the young girl. "It's about getting people thinking," The Scaled Man tapped his forehead, "Set a big enough bet on an unknown… it tells people. This man knows something."

"And what good is that?"

"What does he know?" He continued with a wave of his hand like she hadn't just asked him a question. "Is it something about this Knight of the Laughing Tree? Or is there something about Rhaegar that they don't know?" Then it was that he started to tap his right foot while placing a hand on a nearby rail, together it made him seem unsteady. "Then they start to think… what has Rhaegar said or done?

"I see," And she did see. You started with having people question his past, then you can get people looking at what he's doing right now. Then it'll be easier for people to question what he'll do in the future. "I think you're putting too much faith into this one Tourney."

"True," The Scaled Man admitted freely, his smile becoming cruel. "If I was just making one move," he shook his head, his long hair moving with every movement as he raised a single hand with three fingers held up. "One, two, three."

"Three?" Lyanna was interested in that number, wondering just what other plans he had, but this was not to be. For a loud yell could be yard back by the Jousting area;

"I have not seen this… Knight Of The Laughing Tree's face?" Came the voice of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. "Bring him to me now, I must see it!" He started to bark and scream at his knights.

Lyanna found herself looking to the Scaled Man, the look of confusion on his face told her that he hadn't expected this. Quickly he held up a hand, a wave of dark purple smoke following along with him. Like before it enveloped her, she could feel herself change just a bit. Her nose became larger, her chin wider, her chest smaller but broader.

"Someone's told the King about you," He giggled, it was a girl-ish sound, though it was still chilling in a manner that the young girl couldn't put a finger on. It sounded angry like someone had acted against him. "How naughty, but worry you not," he told her, his voice back to a manly timbre. "For even if you were to remove your helm, not a soul in The Seven Kingdoms would recognize you."

It was a wispy sound that entered her ear, that told her to move her horse forward towards where the King was yelling. At the edge of the Jousting Area, she dismounted her horse uneasily. Lyanna could feel her heart start to pump faster and faster as she walked into view, her armor clicking as she did so.

"It is I, your grace!" Lyanna yelled her voice back to a false boom as it was before, as it echoed out across the area. She kneeled within the King guards sight, their King following behind them gingerly. He was old looking, much older than his age would actually imply. His beard was matted, his nails were yellow and cracked, and his arms were full of scabs and half-healed cuts.

"Well," His voice came out of his mouth. It was somehow more shrill than the Scaled-Man's, but less jarring on her ears. "Off with your helm! Now!" He screamed, not yelled, for this King would never be able to make such a strong sound with his mouth.

With her heart in her mouth, Lyanna Stark raised the helm off her head. She could feel her hair fall around her collarbone, and what she once had tied away from her eyes drew across it like a curtain.

"Good… good…. " King Aerys started to mumble, that was when Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, Lord of The Westerlands walked up behind him. "Oh, Tywin," he spoke up, his voice returning to a more joyous tone. "I don't know this… man. Whose he?"

Lyanna felt her chest tighten. Not a single thought for a name came forth, not a single one. So she squeezed her eyes shut, and faced it towards the ground. Waiting for the Hand of the King to ask the question; "Who are you?"

"That's Howland Reed." But that came instead.

Soon she was dismissed, it wasn't out of place for a man to joust for their own honor.

From there, things went on track. She left from the Joust, came back to her room and threw off her armor, with the help of her little brother, Benjen. It was only when she had taken the chest plate off that she felt herself reform once more in a swirl of purple smoke. Quickly, she got dressed back into her own dress, a blue one suited to the weather of the South.

As she passed, she came upon the confused face of the real Howland Reed.

"Hello, Lady Stark," The man stuttered out, his face asking a question that his mouth never would. How was he on the field, when he knew she had been in the armor?

"Lord Reed, I saw your victories in the joust," The young Stark girl winked at the Crannogman, a finger on her lips, conveying to the other person to not to ask any questions. "Certainly no one will question the Nobility of House Reed. For they now have proof, that you are as Highborn as any. I hope to see you on the morrow repeat this feat."

"Thank you, Lady Lyanna without you I would not have… this moment." The soft joyous smile from the small, almost man was enough for her. It was worth all that panic and the near disaster that had nearly befallen her, this was something she wanted more of. Howland left not long after that, leaving the Young Lyanna alone with her little brother… who asked;

"How did you do all that?" his voice was soft, not yet that of a man. But Lyanna wasn't sure how to answer his question other than with;

"Magic."

* * *

**_Author' Note: I'm not sure if this is the set I want to do here still. I may just keep to the format of three characters per post. Each time dealing with something else from now on. Letting you see the scope of the influence Peader has gained. What do you think?_**

**_We'll be seeing a much greater ripple in my next planned one. Dealing with the results of actions. There's been a change here that come from future 'Past' segment. So look forward to seeing that._**


	3. Ch2:2 Tyrion's Flight!

**AC 286**

Though this was only his three and tenth year, this was one of the happiest days of his life. Tyrion Lannister had just managed to bribe the local Sept into allowing him to marry his lovely Tysha. Mostly by getting him drunk enough that he wouldn't question why all the witnesses were pigs but still. It was a good time to by the Youngest Lannister.

Now, he was out for a walk, to make sure that his sister didn't realize that he had gone off in this adventure.

"This can only end badly," It was a shill voice, one that the young half-man didn't recognize. Tyrion turned to look for this man, only to find a pair of piercing yellow eyes staring back at him, more like animal eyes than those of a man. "I wouldn't keep going that way young Lord." The eyes warned him.

"Oh, and why should I listen to a man shrouded in shadow?" Tyrion questioned bemused at the man's act. "Reveal thyself, good man. I am Tyrion Lannister, Son Of Tywin Lannister, Lord of these lands."

"Of course, my lord," And with that, the man stepped into the light. He was tall enough, at around six feet. Long dark hair and dark dirty teeth weren't the only things that set him apart from others, his skin was scaled, and glittered gold in the light of street lamps. His clothes were of a finer quality, a match for what The Lord Of The Westerlands wore himself to exact. "Is that better my lord?" He smiled, softly at the smaller man.

"Yes," Tyrion found himself taken back by this man. He could understand why one so… different would hide in the shadow, there was the silver of guilt that wormed its way into his heart. "I… I'm sorry for my forceful tone, good man."

"I think nothing of it," A shake of the man's head, and a smile from his lips told Tyrion all that needed. "But I wouldn't think that your secret is so well kept as you do." There was a warning in that sentence. One that kept the exact subject out of the ears of any little birds listening on wayward sons. "Drunk Septs whisper in their sleep."

"Oh," Tyrion was once more taken back by this man. After all, he'd only gotten married not over six hours ago. If this random stranger could know by now, what did that mean about anybody else? "I thank you, kind man."

The shortest Lannister could fell his knees buckle at the sudden realization. If this stranger knew… so soon would his sister. The Lady Of Casterly Rock. That wouldn't end up well for him, Cersei was known as a person that was generous to the small folk… but still looked on them like vermin.

One moment she'd given money or food to the poor of Casterly Rock, the next she'd flog any that would touch her. Her mood switches between the two spectrums caused some to call Cersei, the Lady Of Two Faces. Still, her acts of kindness made her popular among the smallfolk of the Westerlands, but none of that kindness ever seemed to reach to her youngest brother, Tyrion.

If touching her was a flogging offense, he could only imagine what she'd do to him when she hears of this.

"I got to get us out of here." The young boy said, his fist clenching and his voice quivering.

Many claimed that his sister had developed magic powers over the years, meeting a Witch in the forest to learn these Dark Arts, and was using smallfolk in rituals for her wants. Sometimes granting her great fortune or causing misfortune for those that crossed her.

First, there was the misfortunate fate that befell her first betrothed, to which she had famously been slighted by when he had bedded another woman and produced a bastard. Then there was a current one, her fortune as of late, she was to wed a man of great power and influence, one that many throughout the Seven Kingdoms thought would be named the next Hand of The King.

But Tyrion never put much stock of magic, till one day he saw her change outfits with a wave of her hand. From then on, he kept his distance.

"I'd run if I was you," The Scaled Man sang, his head bouncing while he looked at the young boy. "Cersei Lannister is the kind to take… this as an insult." There was a set of stone steps to the side of the path. The man sat on them, a foot placed on his knee. "And you don't know what happened to the last couple that insulted Cersei Lannister by existing."

"What happened?"

"Exactly… they disappeared." The Scaled Man snarked, his grin cold. Then he laughed, a chilling laugh, that reminded the young boy of that time a cart fell on a cat. The cat's scream still echoed in his head at times.

"Where would I run too?" Tyrion felt fear at this moment, not just for himself but for his sweet Tysha. "I have nowhere to hide that she couldn't find me." Jaime would never keep a secret from her for long, so going to him was out of the question.

"That is a problem," The other man responded simply, munching on an apple that seemed to come from the folds of his clothes. "Love apples… " a bit taken out the red apple, its juices pouring down his chin. "If… only there was someplace far away from here… that you could hide in, just for a while."

"Uncle Kevan would harbor me-"

"Would he take the risk?" Tyrion was interrupted by the man, who still sat eating his apple with a nonchalance of a bird looking down at a person. Like some kind of otherworldly being that they just couldn't understand. "That uncle of yours isn't one to rock the boat. He'd save you… "

The 'but' was left out, though even at the age of thirteen, Tyrion could read that writing left on the wall. Uncle Kevan would try to save him but wouldn't risk the threats he would face for Tysha.

"Kingslanding?" Tyrion brought up the next closest safe heaven he could think of. After all, his father had been Hand Of The King for many years, and he knew many of the Nobles living in the city, many who had been kind to him, especially the current Hand.

They may offer him a safe haven.

"Your sister has many eyes there," The Scaled Man sang out in warning, "Second you get there, she comes in with a few knights and your no better off than here." That brought the boy to a standstill. "Dead wife and maybe a head shorter yourself now."

Tyrion froze, his mind searching for a place that he would be welcome. But all had scorned him years ago… and that was with offers of Marriage. When he had something to give, but now he didn't even have that.

"I could offer my protection," Tyrion's eyes drew themselves to the Scaled Man's long hair, which reached to the man's mid back. "I know places that your sister cares not for, that you care not for. No one would look there for you."

"I-I don't know what to say," The boy found himself near speechless. No one had shown him such kindness in years, not since Uncle Gerion had died of illness some two years ago. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I will remember this."

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Was the gleeful reply from the stranger, "I can't get you there…" he licked his lips and made a loud pop sound. "That you need to do on your own," There was a clap that the man gave to his knee, one that caused Tyrion to flinch suddenly. "I don't want your sister to suspect me after all… and you will owe me a favor in the future"

"A Lannister always pays their debts." Tyrion parroted the words that he had heard his father parrot for years.

"Then run North," Yellow eyes sang with delight as the man pointed in said direction, "Run North till-" He stopped suddenly, his hand dropping to his side." I mean to say towards Winterfell, run towards there then turn West."

"Into the Wolfwoods?" The Lannister boy asked, using what he knew of maps to guess at where he was being pointed at.

"Yes, very good," The Scaled Man clapped, glee filling his features like a child getting a sweet roll. "To where the Wolfwoods meet with the river… from there a friend of mine waits." The Scaled Man whispered, "Tell them that Peader sent you, after that, they'll get you to a cabin in the woods. The two of you could live a year or so there in comfort."

With a yell of thanks, and no time to spare the young boy ran down the path once more, this time back the way he came. Back to an inn, a place where his equally young, but much taller, wife lay waiting for his return. Though, expecting it two days from then, not the very night he left. From there they took some supplies… money, some food, and a dagger and a short sword.

They went to the market first.

Eventually, they came upon a tradesman, who was unaware of Cersei's ways and was on their way to the east, close to but not at Kingslanding. He was willing, for a good bit of gold, to let them travel with his caravan until he came to his next destination. From there it would be up to the young married couple to get the rest of their way north.

But Tyrion was young… and in love, and with a way out. There was very little that could convince him to turn around after this point, but plenty that could stop him.

* * *

**_Author's Note: A bit of a jump here. I know. There's going to be a lot of questions about… what? How? Why? And these are all fair questions… and here is the none spoiler answer for that… lots of shit went down._**

**_Some of it good, others bad._**


	4. Ch2:3 Cersei's Tourney Day

**281 AC**

She was in her room, the one that she would be sleeping in while at this place. She was waiting, waiting for the man she was sure was just about to appear… right… Now!

"Someone's been scheming!" Cersei Lannister didn't bother to look at him, not even turning around so that she would face his direction. She was used to his… eccentricities by now. Where once they scared her, now they were just a boorish part of her interactions with this otherwise interesting man. "What is my… Golden Apprentice up to? Hmm!" He hummed out.

Cersei was dressed as was proper of a girl in her station. The finest dress, in the colors of her House. Red and Gold.

"Pointing out my Knight to the King… one would think you're trying to ruin me, Cersei."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," She scoffed at his attempts to be intimidating, "I'm just here to enjoy the Tourny. This is meant to be the grandest one in Harrenhal history," A smile overcome her face, "Wasn't it you that told me that?" Cersei gloated, feeling secure that she had outtalked the Scaled Man.

"Cersei, who are you talking to?" Jaime said, entering the room while brushing off dirt from his hair. He had been unseated in the joust earlier that day and was still getting the muck out of his hair. The Crown Prince himself was the one to do so, leaving him for the final match of jousts tomorrow, against the Knight Of The Laughing Tree, Howland Reed.

"No one, Jaime," She turned and smiled sweetly, if not falsely at her brother. "I was just practicing idle conversation… you know how I am." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the reflection of the Man-Witch himself, coming from a shining metal pot, grinning at her with his dirty teeth.

"I wanted to ask you about a decision I have to make," Jaime sat down on the foot of her bed, his eyes were their usual pleading selves like he was confused and sad at the same time. "Ser Arthur Dayne has offered me a place among the Kingsguard," A ripple ran over Cersei's face, but she hid it before Jaime could see truly was it was. "He said that I had impressed him with my prowess during the Resolution of The Kingswood's Brotherhood."

"I see," The young Lannister lady pondered her brother's nonvocal question. Should he take the Ser Dayne's offer? Cersei was conflicted, on one hand, if she had been asked this a few years earlier she would've said yes, the power and influence that she would have when she eventually ascended to the throne would go well with having her brother there with her. On the other hand, with what she knew for a fact now about the Royal Family, made her actually want her father to quit as the Hand. "Did he give you any time limit?"

"He said that I was welcome to the Guard at any time," Was her brother's claim, "But it would be best to so at this time, while there's a still an opening. Otherwise the King… may fill the spot with someone else himself." It wasn't said out loud that such a person wouldn't be suited to the role, but be chosen for some mad reason by the king.

It was something that would appeal to Jaime. He wanted the tales of Honorable Knights, who'd save maidens and stop monsters to be real. He wanted to a white knight coming in on his horse to save the small folk from corrupted Noblemen overreaching for what their stations allowed. He wanted to slay dragons and be a hero.

Cersei tapped her bedpost. She knew that there was only one way to convince her dear brother not to join the Kingsguard.

"The time isn't right yet," She said, standing up and walking behind her brother, placing her hands on his shoulders. Rubbing them up… and down. A sight of relief escaped his lips, a grin grew out of his former concerned frown. "Anyone with a brain can see that Prince Rhaegar looks to get into conflict with his father," her lips came to his ear, and with a backward twist to her wrist, the door glowed and locked behind them. "I don't need both you and father in the sword's reach of that Mad Family's Civil War."

A kiss was shared. First one was placed on the back of Jaime's head, the next on the palm of Cersei's hand, then the siblings went beyond what was proper. In all this, an image fled from a reflection, making gagging motions all the way.

[hr]

Cersei pulled opened her door, fully dressed and without a sign that anything odd went on in her room. Her smile told any that passed a tale of satisfaction that some guessed that she had finally accepted the hand of one of her many suitors, some rich good looking nobleman... some whispered that it was Prince Oberyn Martell.

But there was one moment that caused many to pause.

The young lady Lannister had been walking down the hall, her twin brother following behind her like a lost puppy, when she came upon the Heir of the Stark Household, the young Brandon Stark who had been arguing his younger sister Lyanna Stark. Whatever was being said was done in hushed whispers so that none knew what topic was being discussed, which they stopped even talking about once they saw the Lannister Twins. but once the two pairs of siblings passed each other everything stopped.

Lyanna's steel grey eyes met with Cersei's emerald green eyes.

A gentle hand came from the blonde, tapping on the shoulder of the younger Stark girl. It was a soft touch something that Lyanna wouldn't have been able to notice if it wasn't for seeing Cersei do so, a jolt went up the young Stark girl's arm. Like a spider had crawled up it and she was feeling their legs step around her arm.

"Lyanna Stark," Cersei greeted the other girl, a smile was as sharp as a broadsword. "My name is Cersei Lannister, its great to met a daughter of another Warden so close to my age."

In fact, the two were near the same age.

"Its a pleasure to met you too, Cersei Lannister." The She-Wolf's response was said stiffer than the Westerlands Lady's words. Things down south were far too formal for a woman of the North, Lyanna would prefer plainer talk with fewer titles than what one would get here. "Please, just call me, Lyanna."

There was a subtle plea there, one that Cersei would take advantage of.

"Of course," With a smile so sweet that it would rot a man's teeth, Cersei agreed with the Northern girl with ease. "And please, call me, Cersei. I do hope that we can become friends."

There were a few minutes of a real quiet talk between the two young ladies while their brothers stood there staring at each other. Jaime feeling like the more awkward of the two men, not having fully grown whereas Brandon Stark was a large man, bloodied and experienced beyond Jaime's means. Eventually, the two males Heirs were both shocked by what Cersei asked near the end of the two's talk.

"I hear that Prince Rheager was singing to you the day before last," The Lioness asked her, tone light as a cloud. "He's the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdom, it must be so flattering to have his attention so."

There was no secret that the Heir to the Iron Throne was unhappy with his wife no longer being capable of giving birth. Though, with two children and one being male none thought this would be an issue at all. To hear that he's shown interest in such a young girl, daughter of the Warden Of The North, was concerning to at least the young girl's own brother.

"Aye, I do find it so... " Lyanna eventually let out, referring to being flattered by the Prince's attention.

"Oh, I can hear the 'but' there," Her Lannister counterpart giggled, a hand coming up to her chin. "Don't let those tales of valiancy fool you, the man is as human as his father," Cersei leaned close to the Stark girl, her lips coming to her ear. "Some say he's mad. Obsessed with making his only boy the Prince That Was Promise."

Another warning this time. Of the same thing as made last. But this time, even though said as a whisper, another two heard the tale. The Prince Rhaeger was as mad as his father... just of a different flavor. It was the first time for Brandon hearing this tale... and the second for Lyanna.

"I see... " Lyanna found herself swallowing her spit as she remembered the warning of the Scaled Man. The very same tale that she was being told by Cersei. "I-I had this before, but is it truly that worrying?" she asked the blonde girl, her full of concern.

"Let me say this," With her lips still to Lyanna's ear, Cersei looked around the place. "There is a reason I did not let my father betrothed me to the Prince." With that, the young Lioness of Castlely Rock took her brother by the arm and left.

Leaving the wolves with questions about the Royal Family when they had none before.

* * *

**_Author's Note: God, that was a weird chapter to write... I could feel my skin start to crawl for a certain section there. I had more for that scene with Jaime and Cersei, but I couldn't stand the scene. I needed it there because its a change that I always planned to show and its one that doesn't evolve Peader directly interfering, instead he's relying on his interference to Cersei._**

**_Now, onto her. Remember the one really important thing about a lot of these characters, whether it is to themselves or to each other they're all liars. The hard part is telling the misleading lies, from the misleading truth. _**


	5. Ch3:1 Prince's Faux Pas

**279 AC**

There was a tent out in the Kingswood. Rhaegar had been with a group of his own personal guards, just a small dozen from some of the bannermen's Houses, no one important, but what was important was this tent just out there in the middle of the Kingswood.

It was green, with leaves placed on top like they were the banners of a Noble House. It was an old and ratty looking, like whoever lived in it was unable to clean the tent as much as it needed to be. There was only one opening in the thing and it was only big enough for a single person at a time.

There was a chance that this was a ploy, something that the Kingswood Brotherhood, a gang of thugs masquerading as noble knights for the smallfolk, cooked up as they learnt that the Prince would be passing by this way. Rhaegar felt that it was unlikely, their position at this point in the path was too strong. They'd need ten times the men to take them here.

And the Prince had traveled to fast for them to have gathered a force here that fast.

"Who dares take refuge in the Kingswood?" The Crown Prince yelled at the man, "Who dares lives on my land and make their lives from what is mine without permission!"

A man who hunts and gathers in lands not their own needs permission to do so. So in the eyes of the law, the Prince was right to ask, he was right to question. Though he was wrong to assume, for all the Prince could know, his father may have given permission to any number of people.

"Oh, your grace," A voice came from behind him, "You would find no one in that tent, for I, the owner am here." The Crown Prince turned to look at the speaker, finding a hunched over man in a dirty old green cloak standing there. His matted hair was visible even under the dark shadow of his hood.

"Then I ask of you, goodman," From his white horse and with white hair, the Prince spoke. "Who are you to make means on lands, not yours?"

"Not I, your grace," The Cloaked man denied, shaking his head and with his knees knocking. It was clear to all there that the man was in fear of the Prince. "Not a thing I have I taken from the Kingswood."

"Have you proof of your innocence or they just words passing through your lips," The Prince came down from his high horse, his armor gleaming in the passing rays of the sun. Though his words were those of warning, there was a gentleness to them. "I warn you, lying to your Prince is a punishable offense."

"I swear to you on the gods, old and new, that not a lie passes through my lips," The forest dweller smiled at the Royal, his dirty teeth causing the clean Prince to cringe in disgust. "If you do not believe me, then come and join me in my tent. Not an item there will have come from these Woods."

Prince Rhaegar looked the man, his hunched-over form with a cane used to walk. Not a weapon was on him, then he looked to the Tent. He could make out the dirt of the ground on the inside due to the breeze swaying it, and not a person was inside.

To him, there was no danger.

"Very well," Prince told the peasant, his smile as radiant as his armor. One would be not be mocked for assuming that this was the Prince at all times, though they would be wrong. "I shall see this… _tent_ of yours."

The word tent was said was so much contempt that it took even his own guards back a bit. None were able to raise an objection to the Prince entering this strange man's tent. There was a time from when the Prince entered the Tent to when he left, where none of his guards moved.

They didn't move for the hour, not one of them felt like going into the Tent. Not when yells started to come from it, not when a bright light shone through its cloth, not when there was a shattering sound of pottery breaking on the ground.

Not even when they heard the telltale sound of steel coming out of a sheath.

Soon, the Prince existed the Tent, blood splattered down his chest plate and dripping down his sword to the path of the Kingswood. In his hands, there was a green cloth, dirty from both wear and the blood Rhaegar was using to wipe it with. It was with no passing time what so ever that this man of Royal blood took one more look to the Tent, turned to his guardsmen and said;

"Burn it down."

So good was Rhaegar's reputation that none thought badly of this. So white and gleaming was his record, that none thought it was odd that the Prince felt that he needed to personally kill an old cripple and then felt the need to burn the body, it would never be brought up to anyone outside this group of guards for years. After all, this man was making means in the Kingswood.

When he had no right to do so.

So without thought or any questions, the Prince's guards took out some fire supplies. Though when one wanted to start the fire from inside the Tent, he found that he was rebuked by the Prince, or 'None shall enter that _things_ dwelling, just burn it down from outside', so none of them ever saw what the old cripple looked like without his cloak. They just burned it all down and left while the fire still raged.

They did hear the screams of a man, not so dead. Yelling in the inferno.

But they never saw the body rise in the flames.

They never saw the flames extinguished without losing the smoke rising to the sky.

They never saw the yellow eyes glare off in the direction they had all gone.

* * *

**_Author's Note: A bit shorter than some of the others of its kind here. But length is all about purpose. This chapter is about two things, first is about a question. What with down in the Tent._**

**_The next is an answer... for a question no one asked. Please review if you enjoyed this and have followed this. It tells that you still enjoy it. _**


	6. Ch3:2 Ned's Dance

**281 AC**

It was during the first night of feasting during the Tourny at Harenhal, the morning would be for the joust, that Eddard Stark, known as Ned to his friends, found that he was uncomfortable at this sort of gathering. Never sure how to interact in these southern parties, they had similarities to their northern counterparts that was for sure, but there was an undercurrent of political games at all times. Talking to that girl in the corner, well that means you must be against the man to the other side of the room.

Still, he had his honor as a Stark. So he would be at this sort of gatherings with the rest of his family. Though, he had lost sight of his siblings in the mess of people that were here feasting and dancing at this very party.

"Hello, there my Lord," A man's voice broke the young Stark from his thoughts on the gathering. Ned turned to look at this man, finding him rather odd looking, his skin was covered in scales, and gold so it wasn't greyscales, the man's eyes were yellow and his clothes were those of a Dornish make. To Ned, he seemed to be a young House's Heir, here to connect with the big Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. "You look lost."

"Aye," Ned found himself chuckling, his time in the Vale had softened his somewhat stiff demeanor with strangers enough that he could commit to small talk such as this. And there was no need to show disrespect to this man by not speaking to him. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself in these gatherings. Yourself?"

"Not many will talk to a man of my… " The Scaled Man left it unsaid why many would not talk to him, but it was plain to see what he was alluding to. "though, I apologize, my name is Peader Ó Cuinn and yours?" The man had a foreign name, not belonging to any family, or even just a region, that Ned was familiar with but if he was here and openly talking to him like this, then he must of have been invited.

A new or foreign House wasn't unheard of.

"I am Eddard Stark, second son of Rickard Stark, Lord Of Winterfell and Warden of The North."

"Oh," The man went, his yellow eyes blinking like they were a candle about to die out. "And tell me, young Lord, as a second son have you been matched yet?" It didn't take more than a second for Ned to realize what this man meant.

"No," The Second Son shook his head, "My father has yet to find one for me, I'm afraid you must speak to him if you have an offer." It was sad to Ned that even the foreigners were more interested in talking politics than just polite conversation.

"No, no, young Eddard," The man spoke to the young Stark with such bafflement that he was sure that this he was being talked down to by a maester, "As a second son, you can just go out and mingle for a good match yourself. You just can't promise anything without your father."

"That is true," For a second, Ned's eye caught a glance of dark hair and violet eyes dancing in the crowd. "Though…"

"One must be a bit bold, though sometimes one's natural reticence does allow ladies to see our honest feelings." There was a slap to his back, then it was like enchantment had taken over him as he walked towards the dancing lady of violet eyes,

Dark Grey eyes met with violet ones, sharing a look between themselves, and so they danced and danced all through the night. No longer did the young dancing lady look for other partners but instead she danced with the Second Son of the Stark House. This did cause a stare of jealousy from a pair of old pale blue eyes.

But also, joyful smiles shared across a room between two fathers. It was just that one of those smiles soured when a man whispered into his ears about songs and Princes.

* * *

Eddard didn't catch sight of the man for the rest of the night and his mind was too set in with the color of violet to care. No, it was only in the morn that he saw the man, sitting in the stands next to where the House Lannister had situated themselves at. The Scaled Man was just a row or two below the Hand's House.

But there was an odd exchange between Lord Ó Cuinn and the young Cersei Lannister.

There were moments were Cersei's mouth was wide open in shock, mostly in response to the flawless performance of the Knight Of The Laughing Tree, who had been blowing through all set against him. Though for some reason, she would send a glare towards Peader rather than anyone else, and the man himself would only respond with a dirty, wicked grin.

The Scaled Man was an odd one, for one so foreign to by the daughter of the King's hand. There was something going on there, something that Ned wasn't sure he liked.

"Father," Eddard turned to the man, whose eyes seemed to search for something. "Do you know of a House named Ó Cuinn?"

They were sitting with the rest of the Stark family, excluding their sister who stayed in bed due to feeling unwell. Though, Ned was sure that it was more about her not certain if she could control her temper against those squires that had hassled poor Howland Reed the night before.

"Ó Cuinn?" The Stark Patriarch shook his head, a frown on his face. "Can't say I have son, it sounds very foreign. How did you hear this name?"

It didn't sound like a Southern one, nor was it a House that any Stark had heard of. So it wasn't Northern.

"I believe that I met their heir last night," Ned explained, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He could feel that something was wrong in the air, something was off and he would be ready for it. "He was a young man with gold scales for skin, yellow eyes. He was just over there by the Lannisters."

Rickard Stark stared over to The Lion's stand. Looking over them for some sign, that was when he caught something he hadn't thought he would've. He saw Cersei Lannister's hand glowed pink and the King's head suddenly did the same.

"I have not seen this… Knight Of The Laughing Tree's face?" King Aerys suddenly stood, his legs wobbling from the sudden movement and with his matted hair, long cracked nails didn't help the image of a mad sickly King. "Bring him to me now, I must see it!" He started to bark and scream at the Kingsguard, who had already anticipated his command and moved forward to find the man.

Before they could the Knight of the Laughing Tree came forward once more.

"No," Benjen whispered, his hand pulling at their father's cloak. "Father, that… that knight… isn't a man." The youngest Stark whispered, only loud enough for the Stark Males to hear.

"Then she's a fool," Brandon spat out, rolling his eye up as he did so. "What girl thinks that they would get by a man's game like this unnoticed?" The Stark Heir glared at the 'fake' Knight with venom. "The girl would deser-"

"Its Lyanna!" Was the young brother's quick but quiet response. "I helped her with the armor."

All of them turned as Lyanna's helm came up from her face. Ned closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the humiliation that his sister was about to undergo at the hands' of these southern Lords. Even now the rage boiled through his system until he heard something odd;

"That's Howland Reed," Came the voice of Tywin Lannister, the hand of the King.

"What's he on about?" Ned found himself whispering to his father, having opened his eyes at the news. His father turned to him in confusion, "That's Lyanna, clearly. From the long hair to the very color of her eyes, she does not appear like Howland Reed."

* * *

**_Author's Note: Now, we finish with Harenhall. I do hope that this isn't all confusing to you all, with the jumping to and fore and when certain sequences happen in relation to the others? I think it's self-evident but I'm also the author._**

**_So there's that._**


End file.
